Page 41 of Twisted Trust

“Thanks.”

“Speaking of…” Chip suddenly turns his back to Maeve and Scott and drastically lowers his voice as he leans closer. “Cameron’s apartment.”

“What about it?”

“It was brutal, we can agree. But it was perfectly brutal.”

I glance sidelong at him. “What are you getting at?”

“It was perfect, sure. Too perfect, if you ask me. Almost as if it was staged.”

“By him?” I ask and then my gaze slides back to Maeve. “Or by her?”

Chip shrugs. “Her grief seemed pretty genuine. But everything else just feels… off.”

“Noted. Thanks.”

“You got it.” Chip steps away as the policeman moves past us with a polite smile, then Maeve walks up to me with Scott in her arms. His sobbing has faded somewhat and now he sits in her arms with his head under her chin, hiccupping every so often around the fist in his mouth.

“I don’t know why you did this,” Maeve says, and her voice cracks. “But thank you.”

“You’re coming with me to my penthouse,” I say, choosing not to give her a reason. “That woman was pretty clear about keeping an eye on you, so we’re going to have to keep up appearances.”

“For how long?”

“For as long as it takes.”

Maeve nods and briefly closes her eyes. “Fine. But that means you can’t K-I-L-L me either,” she mutters, spelling out the word she doesn’t want to say with Scott in her arms.

“If I wanted to, I’d be able to. Don’t forget who you’re talking to.” The threat isn’t meant to hold weight, but it rises like a reflex as if to try and protect me from the growing affection for Maeve that’s rekindling in my heart.

“Whatever,” she mutters. “Maybe I should just go home then.”

“No,” I say quickly. “Returning to the building where your friend went missing and your son was taken will look reckless to Hillary. You need to be seen making good choices. Come home with me.”

As she contemplates what to do, Donald pulls up behind us with the family's four-by-four and hops out with a smile. “Evening.”

“Evening.”

“Where to?” he asks, moving past Maeve and opening the back door.

I look at Maeve and she faintly rolls her eyes, then presses a lingering kiss to Scott’s head. “Fine. I’ll come home with you.”

It’s difficult to contain my smile so I clear my throat and stretch out my arm, offering her the first entry to the car. She takes it and allows Chip to help her and Scott inside. I allow her a few minutes to get settled and then follow. She sits near the window with her arms around the car seat Scott’s been strapped into. He starts to whine so she begins humming softly in her throat with her face resting near his head. I sit across from her and Chip hops in next to her.

Any further conversation is paused in front of Scott so the ride is comfortably silent until it becomes utterly quiet as Scott rapidly falls asleep in his car seat and Maeve dozes off not two minutes after.

It’s the first time I’ve seen her look peaceful. Her cheeks are still streaked with makeup from her tears, there’s still a slight furl between her brows, and her lower lip has been anxiously bitten to the point of bruising, but she looks peaceful.

As peaceful as the mornings I’d wake up before her and just lovingly study her face.

How did we get to this?

How did the woman I love become the source of my greatest pain, and why couldn’t I end that pain by ending her life? Now she’s in my jeep with her son, fast asleep as if she’s surrounded by people she can trust, and the world will think she’s my fiancée.

Shit. My father will find out soon enough, too. Maybe there’s a way I can spin this to my advantage and make him think this was a tactical choice and not a moment of weakness to keep Maeve with her son.

To stop the woman I care for from suffering so deeply.